DRINKWINE: Forecasts aren't always accurate

It had been snowing for several days ranging from flurries to whiteouts, and the accumulation was creeping steadily to exceed 15 inches with no end in sight. It was January; snow and ice was to be expected, but this storm was causing havoc. For the Ostrich Society it was just something to overcome and get on with whatever needed getting on with.

It wasn’t by accident that the meeting of the Ostrich Society was convened in the president’s garage at 7:30 on the second Tuesday of the month, nor was it unusual that 35 members and seven bird dogs were in attendance. It was, after all, a regularly-scheduled meeting night of the Society and it was expected to take place as it had for the past 30 years.

Sitting at tables tying old and new patterns of flies while recounting casts made to rising trout and shot thrown at flushed grouse and woodcock, several pours of “two-fingers-of-bourbon” were being made short work of as Hank turned on a radio. The station was scratchy so Hank adjusted the tuning knob until a station came in clear (like the members, it was an old radio with tubes and such and was affected by weather).

The game was interrupted by a newscast featuring the mayor being interviewed, answering questions about why the roads and streets in town were still impassable. The mayor said, “The city didn’t have enough warning of the amount of accumulation therefore couldn’t effectively plan.”

Advertisement

A few more questions were asked and each time he replied, “We were caught unaware and the storm got out ahead of us before we could respond. If only we’d have been warned.”

Bobbins dropped and were left hanging from their thread as the members looked at the radio as though there was something to see, breaking out in laughter almost in unison. Jake was the first to offer his take on the interview, “It’s January and it’s snowing. What does he mean he didn’t have any warning? They closed the schools the night before the snow came.” That too was a subject of comment as they relived their having to walk five miles to school in all sorts of weather – up-hill both ways.

Henry broke in amidst the laughter. “I don’t know about you guys, but I think the mayor is onto something. Remember last year’s trip to the Au Sable for the hex hatch? Well, we made the trip when we did because we got word from Andy at the fly shop that the hatch was on. Remember, he said the pattern he sold us was the only one consistently producing fish on the river. And what happened? By the time it sank in that the only fish caught were us, it was time to pack up and head home. I think the mayor is right, we’d have done better if we had better information. It was the meteorologists that let him down and the entomologist that let us down.”

More laughter broke out and more “two fingers” were poured.

Bill spoke up next, “Remember last spring on out first trip to the South Branch? We checked with the DNR about water levels and they told us it was slightly high, but otherwise fishable. The first hole we came to, Jake went under and two of us followed him like a row of ducks because it was deeper than it should have been. The DNR wasn’t accurate enough with the water level information.”

“How about the time we went to the U.P. for Sharptails? The forecast was for overcast conditions, not rain. We got soaked to the bone because we left our rain gear back at camp. If only we had good information.”

“And the time Tom and I were fishing on Intermediate Lake and got soaked,” Hank said. “We had a little transistor radio we were listening to when the weather forecast said, 30 percent chance of rain. Hell, it had been raining for an hour already.”

The consensus was that you can’t ever rely on a “weatherman.”

Horace, who had taken all this in stood and said he wanted to share something that would put an end to all this nonsense.

“My grandfather used to predict weather to the tenth of an inch of precipitation; snow or rain. And he did it without any formal education. He had a bunion on his little toe on the right foot that caused him great annoyance when the weather changed. If it turned bright red, it meant it was going to snow. If it became numb, there was going to be so much snow that it didn’t matter what you had planned, stay home.”

Someone asked how that helped make the best of things? He replied, “If his bunion turned numb, it meant he should put on two pair of socks. If the snow didn’t happen, so what. At least he had warm feet.”

The preceding is reported as the TRUTH, WHOLE TRUTH AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH …Give or Take a Lie or Two!

Terry Drinkwine writes Outdoor columns for Digital First Media. You can reach him at terrydrinkwineoutdoors@yahoo.com